Mother and son

It’s when I open your wardrobe
to hang up one of your blouses
or to reach for a cardigan
to drape over your autumnal shoulders
that I feel like weeping
tears that cannot yet fall

For I glimpse the hollow sight
that will greet me when you’ve gone:
these same clothes
hanging from their wiry coat hangers
charity-shop-bound

Oh that your body was not wasting away like this
that we could walk
hand in hand around the garden under this generous October sun
sharing love and smiles and health
confident of spring